Holding his breath, Jesus strode hurriedly, angrily, through the streets and over the dead-drunk people who were rolling on the ground. The smells and filth and the shameless guffawing nauseated him. “Quickly, quickly!” he exhorted his companions. Holding his right arm around John and his left around Andrew, he proceeded.

But Peter was continually halting, encountering pilgrims from Galilee who offered him a glass of wine, a bite to eat, and engaged him in conversation. He would call Judas; Jacob would come too-they did not wish to give grounds for complaint to any of their friends. But the three in front were in a hurry. They continually called the tarriers and made them start out again.

“Good God, the teacher won’t let us breathe freely like human beings,” grumbled Peter, who had already fallen into a gay mood. “What have we got ourselves into?”

“And where have you been all this time, my poor Peter?” said Judas, shaking his head. “Do you think we’ve come here to have a good time? Do you think we’re going to a wedding?”

But while they were running, they heard a hoarse voice from one of the tents: “Hey, Peter, son of Jonah, you lousy Galilean-you pass by, we practically knock our heads together and you don’t even notice. Stop a minute to have a drink. It’ll clear your sight and you’ll be able to see me!”

Peter recognized the voice and stopped. “Halloo! Nice to bump into you, Simon, you filthy Cyrenian!”

He turned to his two companions. “Lads, this time we can’t escape: let’s stop and have a drink. Simon is a famous drunkard, keeper of a celebrated inn near the gate of David. He deserves to be hanged and have his head impaled on a stake, but he’s a nice fellow all the same, and we ought to do him the honor.”

And truly, Simon was a good fellow. In his youth he had shipped out from Cyrene and opened a tavern, and every time Peter came to Jerusalem he put up at his house. The two of them ate and drank, talked, joked, sometimes broke out into a song, sometimes into a brawl, became friends again, drank some more, and then Peter would wrap himself up in a thick blanket, lie down on a bench and fall asleep. Simon was sitting now under his tent of entwined vine branches, a jug under his arm and a bronze cup in his hand. He was drinking, all by himself.

The two friends embraced. They were both half drunk, and each felt so much love for the other that his eyes filled with tears. After the initial shouts and hugs and repeated toasts were over, Simon began to laugh.

“I bet my bones you’re on your way to get baptized,” he said. “You’re doing the right thing; I give you my blessing. The other day I was baptized myself, and I don’t regret it. It’s quite satisfying.”

“And have you noticed any improvement?” asked Judas, who was eating, not drinking. His mind was full of thorns.

“What can I say to you, my friend? It’s been years since I was in the water. Water and I are at swords’ points. I’m made for wine; water is for the toads. But the other day I said to myself: Look here, why not go and get baptized? The whole world is going, and it’s certain that among the newly enlightened there’ll be a few who drink wine. They can’t all be imbeciles, so I’ll be able to make a few acquaintances and hook some clients. Everyone knows my tavern at the David gate… Well, to make a long story short, I went. The prophet is a savage, untamed beast-how can I describe him? Flames fly out of his nostrils-God protect me! He grabbed me by the neck and dunked me into the water up to my beard. I screamed. He was going to drown me, the infidel! But I survived, came out-and here I am!”

“And have you noticed any improvement?” Judas repeated.

“I swear to you by my wine that the bath did me a lot of good, yes, a lot of good. I felt relieved. The Baptist says I was relieved of my sins. But-just between you and me-I think I was relieved of a few grease spots, because when I came out of the Jordan there was a film of oil on top of the water an inch deep.”

He burst out laughing, filled his cup, drank; and then Peter and Jacob drank too. He refilled his cup and turned to Judas. “And you, blacksmith, don’t you drink? It’s wine, you blessed idiot, not water.”

“I never drink,” answered the redbeard, pushing away the cup.

Simon’s eyes popped. “Are you one of them?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes, one of them,” said Judas, and with one flourish of his hand he cut the conversation short.

Two painted women passed, stopped for a moment and winked at the four men.

“Nor women?” asked Simon, bewildered.

“Nor women,” Judas again dryly replied.

“What then, poor fellow?” shouted Simon, who could bear this no longer. “Why did God make wine and women, can you tell me? To while away his own time, or for us to while away ours?”

At that moment Andrew came up at a run. “Come quickly,” he shouted. “The teacher is in a hurry.”

“What teacher?” asked the innkeeper. “The one dressed all in white, the barefooted one?”

But the three companions had already left, and Simon the Cyrenian, standing disconcerted outside his tent, the empty cup still in his hand and the jug under his arm, watched them and shook his head. “This must be another Baptist, another lunatic. Bah, they’ve been sprouting up lately like mushrooms. Let’s drink to his health,” he said, filling the cup. “May God give him some sense!”

Meanwhile, Jesus and the companions had reached the great courtyard of the Temple. Halting, they washed their hands, feet and mouths in order to enter the Temple and worship. They glanced quickly around them: tiers, one after the other, all crowded with men and animals; well-shaded arcades, columns of white and blue marble girded with golden vine branches and grapes; and on every side, sheds, tents, carts, money-changers, barbers, wine-sellers; butchers. The air resounded with shouts, brawls and laughter, and the house of the Lord stank from sweat and filth.

Jesus put his palm over his nose and mouth. He looked all around him, but God was nowhere. “’I hate, I despise your festivities. I am nauseous from the stench of the fatted calves you slaughter for me. Take away from me the tumult of your psalms and your lutes.’ ” It was no longer the prophet, nor God, but the heart of Jesus which was upside down and crying out. Suddenly he felt faint. Everything disappeared. The. heavens opened and an angel with hair of fire rushed forth, his feet lashing out into the air. With smoke and flames rising from the hair of his head, he climbed onto a black rock in the middle of the courtyard and pointed his sword toward the proud, gold-saddled Temple.

Jesus staggered. He steadied himself on Andrew’s arm. Opening his eyes, he saw the Temple and the noisy people. The angel had hidden himself in the great light. Jesus extended his arms towards his companions. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I cannot last. I shall faint. Let us go.”

“Without worshiping?” said Jacob, scandalized.

“We worship within ourselves, Jacob,” said Jesus. “Each of our bodies is a temple.”

They left. Judas went in the lead, tapping his stick on the ground. He can’t endure filth, blood and shouting, he was thinking. He isn’t the Messiah.

A wild, throbbing Pharisee, stretched out face down on the last step of the Temple, was ravenously kissing the marble, and bellowing. Thick strings of talismans stuffed with terrifying texts from Scripture hung around his neck and arms. Repeated prostrations had made his knees calloused like a camel’s; and his face, neck and breast were covered with open, running wounds: every time this tempest of God threw him down, he would seize sharp stones and mutilate himself.

Andrew and John quickly stepped in front of Jesus so that he would not see the Pharisee. Peter came up to Jacob and leaned over to his ear. “You know him. He’s Jacob, the oldest son of Joseph the Carpenter. He makes his rounds selling talismans and every two minutes his evil spirit takes hold of him, and he rolls on the ground and literally murders himself.”